Actions Speak Louder Than Words
by ShelbyElizabeth
Summary: NFA Hangman prize for Sanna. McGee gets a late night visit from some friends. McGiva, can be read as relationship or friendship.


McGee sat in his apartment angrily free-writing, trying to rid himself of his writer's block. He was disgusted by every word that he put on paper. It was all rubbish. His feelings were accented by every tap of his fingers on the keys; each one was harder and more violent than the last.

There was a loud knock at the door, which frustrated Tim even more. The only thing he disliked more than writer's block was being interrupted while he attempted to get rid of it.

At first, he ignored it, hoping that whoever it was would go away, but the visitor pounded again, this time more forcefully. He figured that the person at his door wasn't going to go away unless he sent them away.

Tim got up and straightened his clothes. He put on his best 'annoyed' face, which wasn't difficult to do, and went to go see who was bothering him.

He swung open the door to reveal a flustered looking Ziva, and a strange looking Tony, who had one arm swung over Ziva's shoulders. "Probie!" Tony greeted, one eyelid drooping shut, the other remaining half open, "What are you doing here?" the words slurred together so it sounded more like 'Whadr-u do-here?'

Tim stepped back to let them in. Tony burped loudly, and Ziva sighed in disgust. "I am sorry," she apologized, "I know it is late, but I did not know where else to go. I hope we did not wake you."

"That's okay, I guess. I was awake, and I wasn't getting anything done anyways. What's up with him?" Tim gestured to Tony.

Ziva had let go of him, and he was swaying back and forth gently, humming to himself.

"I was getting ready for bed when I got a phone call. Apparently, he's had a few too many drinks. Whoever he was with left him at the bar when he passed out. The bartender found my number in his phone and he called me to come get him. But, as you can see, he is awake now," Ziva explained.

"Probie, I gotta use your bathroom!" Tony took off through the apartment, running into the wall as he tried to turn the corner into Tim's bedroom.

"Great. Just great," Tim grumbled under his breath; he had seen Tony like this before, and if this was anything like the other times, he was going to have one hell of a mess to clean up later.

Ziva shuffled her feet, glad to be rid of the dead weight that was Tony. Tim went into the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water is fine," Ziva smiled; it was not the first time she had picked up a drunken Tony, but it was the first time that she couldn't get him all the way back to his place in one trip; leave it to Tony to make things difficult.

She wandered back to Tim's writing desk while he poured out three glasses of water: one for him, one for Ziva, and one for Tony, when he got out of the bathroom.

She looked at the paper sticking out of the typewriter. It was full of different conversations between characters in Tim's book, but they were too eclectic to actually be part of the story. Ziva reasoned that he must be free-writing.

Tim came over and handed her a glass. They both cringed at the sound of Tony's retching in the other room. "I am sorry to bring him here like this," she took a sip of her water, "but apparently he does not have the keys to his apartment. I could pick the lock, but someone still needs to go back to the bar and see if he dropped them somewhere around there, and I cannot leave him alone. He will hurt himself, and then Gibbs will be upset with me."

"Oh, I don't mind," Tim leaned against the desk. "You can leave him here, if you want, so you can go back and find them," he offered.

Loud snores permeated through the closed door to the bathroom. Tim and Ziva chuckled. "Alright then," she agreed.

Tim walked her to the front door. "Oh, by the way," she said, "Actions speak louder than words."

"What?" Tim was confused.

"For your story. Everything that you had on the paper was dialogue. It seems that you are stuck, so you may want to try having us, I mean, your characters show instead of tell."

Tim contemplated her words and found that there was a great deal of truth in them. It did seem that whenever he fell into a rut, he reverted into only writing dialogue. "Good idea, thanks Ziva."

"No, thank you for keeping an eye on Tony for a while. I feel like a child-sitter."

"Babysitter," Tim corrected.

"Of course," Ziva stood on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek softly, "I'll be back soon to collect him."

She exited the apartment, leaving Tim standing by the wide open door, her advice resonating in his head. Actions speak louder than words. Actions speak louder than words.

Each sentence was punctuated by the memory of her quick parting gesture. Actions speak louder than words. Kiss. Actions speak louder than words. Kiss.

"I am reading way too much into this," he said to himself.

He heard Tony groaning in his sleep. He shook the thoughts from his head and went to help his friend to the small couch he had added to his apartment since the last time he had received an unexpected visit. Tony woke up just enough to shuffle over to it, but within seconds, he was asleep again, and Tim was left alone with his thoughts, waiting for Ziva to return.

Actions speak louder than words. Kiss. Actions speak louder than words.


End file.
